A Mother's Lament
by Agarwaen Lhach
Summary: A series of letters from the mothers of the HP books—Molly Weasley, Lily Potter, Alice Longbottom, and Petunia Dursley. But centered on Molly and Lily.
1. To Percy, From Molly

Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.  
  
Summary: A series of letters from the mothers of the HP books-Molly Weasley, Lily Potter, Alice Longbottom, and Petunia Dursley. But centered on Molly and Lily.  
  
A/N: Molly will have three chapters, one for Percy, Ron, Ginny, and Harry in that order. Lily's will follow Percy's, Mrs. Longbottom's Ron, and Petunia's Ginny.  
  
A Mother's Lament  
  
Chapter One: Devoured by Angels  
  
Dear Percy,  
  
I can sometimes sympathize with Mrs. Black. When she curses Sirius from her portrait, it isn't at all difficult to imagine myself hurling the same insults at my own son. But the part that frightens me the most is that I no longer care one whit.  
  
"Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!" she cried, shaking a fist at Sirius.  
  
Percy, my wonderful, intelligent, perfect child, you have been devoured by that which you held dear. You were always so ambitious, so eager to please your teachers, your fellow students, your family. But your trusted hope has turned to greed, and now you betray your family because of your ambition. You would sell us for a better job.  
  
"Stain of dishonor, blood traitor, child of filth!" she would shriek.  
  
Lately Mrs. Black's insults and screams of fury are less common than her weeping, as she mourns her last child. I, too, begin to cry sometimes, when I remember that it is likely that at least one part of our family will die in the course of this war. I keep them close to me for their safety. I don't want Charlie overseas. I don't want Bill moving to France when he and Fleur are married next year. I don't want Fred and George getting their own apartment. When Ron, Ginny and Harry leave for school, it takes me hours to fall asleep at night, and when I do, all I can dream of is my boggart, their bodies sprawled on the floor while I weep, because I wasn't able to save them.  
  
But you are out of my reach.  
  
You I have no control over.  
  
I write, you return the letters unopened. I visit, you slam the door in my face. I even send a Howler, and you ward your apartment to block them.  
  
I promise you, Percy, you will be the first of us to die.  
  
Not Charlie or Bill or Arthur, because they are cautious enough. Not Fred or George, because they know enough to stay out of the really dangerous places, no matter what they want me to think. Not Ron or Ginny or Harry, because they're both cautious and, if they are caught in a situation out of their control, they are skilled enough to handle it.  
  
But you are not cautious at all. You follow your rulers blindly, without questioning what they tell you. Even if you were caught in a dangerous situation, you wouldn't do anything unless you were ordered to.  
  
It is likely you will return this letter to me like the rest. But if you do, I swear by all the angels in Heaven and demons in Hell that I will haunt you until the day you die and after.  
  
Percy, my son, I love you and always will. But if you keep this up, I will not go to your funeral.  
  
Molly Weasley  
  
July the 15th, 1996 


	2. To Harry, From Lily

This fic is now published on MuggleNet Interactive under my name AgarwaenLhach. This chapter is selling for one Galleon, and the first is up for free.  
  
A Mother's Lament  
  
Chapter Two: To Harry, From Lily  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Happy birthday, little Harry. Today you are a full year old. Already you walk and can say "Mummy" and "Daddy" - and, to your father's amusement, "Padfoot", "Wormtail", and "Moony". This letter is for you to read on your seventeenth birthday, whether or not we are there to see it.  
  
These are troubled times. Your father and I are part of the resistance against Lord Voldemort. We know he is after us, and we are afraid. But you, Harry, are the one little light in our ocean of darkness. You keep us going, when we sense the Death Eaters inching closer and closer, oblivious to the danger. You keep us sane, Harry, and for that we are thankful.  
  
You are always smiling. Already you have your father's looks about you, but your eyes have turned to my emerald green, like my own mother's. You have your grandfather's nose, and your height is a little taller than most your age.  
  
All your grandparents are dead now, little Harry. Your father's parents and your aunt were killed only two weeks ago, and my own parents' funeral was the day before your birth. I miss them, Harry, and I fear that your own parents won't be along for any more of your birthdays.  
  
Harry, we can see what is coming. We know that Voldemort and his followers are getting closer to us every day. There isn't much time left now. But we're not going to stop trying. And even if we die, you, Harry, will read this letter in sixteen years.  
  
We love you, Harry, and even if we don't see you past your first birthday, we will make sure you will. My mother, on my wedding day, told me, in full Irish accent:  
  
"The Evans an' their offspring shall always b' th' most stubborn creatures on th' earth, and if ye should ever find one more so, the Evans must be dead!"  
  
I'm afraid she was right. Every time your father begins to start getting depressed, you toddle up to him on your unsteady legs and tell him fiercely, "Happy, Daddy! Happy, now!"  
  
And I grin and say, "Listen to the child, James!"  
  
We are the stubborn ones. And I now say, in all my stubborn, redheaded glory, that I will die to protect you and your father. I will sacrifice my life if it means letting you live.  
  
Always loving you,  
  
Lily Potter 


End file.
